


Chemoreception (Or 4 Love Lives Brent Wilson Never Had and 1 He Did)

by magdalyna



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Scents & Smells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magdalyna/pseuds/magdalyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 things fic of the boys Brent has and has not fallen for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chemoreception (Or 4 Love Lives Brent Wilson Never Had and 1 He Did)

( _Chemoreception: process by which organisms respond to chemical stimuli._ )

 

**i) Cinnamon**

Brent meets Ryan when he’s 15. It’s a rocky start with Ryan’s blunt edges and Brent’s lack of history. They find that skateboards, Tekken and music bridge the gaps.

Brent learns to navigate Ryan’s rough edges with Spencer’s patient help. 

When Ryan smiles (rarely) its like a red razor slicing through muscle and bone. Brent does his best to make Ryan smile as best he can: something in him twists and purrs when he sees it. 

Ryan and Spencer have this band. At some point Brent stops hanging out with them while they practice, starts practicing with them. At some point Ryan, Spencer and Brent have this band. 

In the summer, one afternoon, Brent forgets himself: they had been walking around, talking idly. Ryan turned, Brent tripped. They kissed. Brent tasted cinnamon from Ryan’s gum.

Brent regained his footing, kept kissing. So did Ryan. 

They pulled away after a while, Ryan looking vaguely guilty. Brent takes him to his house, goes to his room that Ryan hasn’t seen yet. 

They start playing a video game but Brent kisses him again and Ryan lets it happen. 

At practice a few days later, Spencer arches an eyebrow at Ryan. Ryan rolls his eyes, blatant twin-language arguing. 

Ryan’s enthusiastic when they start exploring each other. He maps Brent’s body, fingers trailing Brent’s back, the curve of his stomach. Brent kisses over Ryan’s body, fingers and nails in hips and elbows. Ryan bites at Brent’s lips, licks along his cock, guides him along when Brent wants to try tongue and lips on Ryan’s. 

When Brent finds out this dorky kid in some of his classes whose on friendly terms with him can play all kinds of instruments, he brings him along to practice.

Spencer and Ryan mostly let him do this because they’re bored. 

Brendon is all coltish nerves, beat boxing and Gollum impressions. 

Brent can tell Spencer is humoring Brendon. Ryan is just bored; vaguely irritated he has to give up a few hours away from his father like this, instead of getting in useful practice time. 

Ryan is bored up until Brendon starts singing under him, voice smoothing out the jagged edges, rising like the sun. 

They all stop playing except Brendon. Ryan’s eyes are fixed on Brendon like a lion, cobra, some kind of predator looking at its next meal. It’s kind of hot and scary at the same time. 

Brendon looks at him, tries to look for help. Brent wouldn’t stop Ryan for the entire world. 

Ryan opens his mouth, gets himself a lead singer. 

After practice, after Brent gets Brendon home, at Brent’s house, Ryan fucks him against a wall in his bedroom. Brent kisses him violently, biting, needing. Ryan grins into it, feral.

What they have isn’t exactly sweet, but it suits them, red and vivid. 

 

**ii) Mint**

Brent meets Ryan first but its Spencer who makes Brent want to stay in touch. 

Spencer is calm, sarcastically funny, dedicated. Vivid like mint, mind clear with drum beats.

They fall into an easy friendship. 

There’s just something about him that pulls Brent in. 

One night, one of the rare times that Ryan isn’t with them, Spencer kisses him while they play Final Fantasy XI. 

Brent isn’t expecting it, but doesn’t stop him. Kisses him back. 

They make out for awhile before Spencer’s mom calls them down to dinner. 

At practice, Ryan quirks his lips in what would be a grimace for other people. Spencer glares, and they duel it out like that for a few minutes before Ryan’s face goes back to normal and Spencer counts out a start. 

Spencer likes to give kisses to him. They’re tender and slow, rough and needy. Brent never knows what to expect when Spencer kisses him. Spencer likes it when Brent’s on his knees, lips and tongue swirling over his cock in careful strokes. Brent likes kissing Spencer after, with Spencer’s taste mingling between them. 

When Brent thinks of Spencer with his eyes closed, he thinks of green, vibrant things. 

Spencer encourages him to bring that geeky kid in his classes to practice, if he really thinks it’ll be interesting. 

The kid is odd, but Brent had been fascinated when he started talking about the proper methods of tuning a piano. 

Brendon comes to practice, out of place and nervous. 

Brent feels sorry for him, until he starts singing backup for Ryan. 

The look on his face when they stop playing is priceless – like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ryan has a calculating expression on his face, and Brent is startled to realize he can tell them apart by now. 

Spencer leaves his window open and space in his bed for Brent to be comfortable in later that night. 

They make out for a few lazy hours before Brent has to go. Ryan will be there soon enough anyway. 

Maryland, what little they see of it, is damp and depressing, even though there’s so much potential resting on them. 

The days are long and hectic and the nights don’t really recharge anyone’s batteries. 

They watch movies sometimes and Brent and Spencer curve into each other; hold hands under the blankets, watch the screen and Ryan and Brendon dancing around the fact that they like each other. It’s almost pleasant. 

When they get a bus, they christen both their bunks. 

Spencer is all over him, in his bunk. Spencer’s will be next. Spencer curls his fingers around Brent’s cock, rhythm steady and strong. His orgasm spirals out of him distantly. Brent watches as Spencer licks his hand clean. 

In Spencer’s bunk, Brent lubes himself up, watches as Spencer spreads himself, before easing in. Spencer is tight and warm around him. Spencer starts moving under him, around him, tightening and writhing. They work at a pattern of meeting thrusts until Brent can’t stop himself from spilling inside of Spencer.

Spencer’s skin tastes like what Brent thinks mint juleps must taste like. Stunning, sweet, salty. Green. 

 

**iii) Orange**

Brent starts the school year irritable: running late and tired. 

There’s this kid in a good number of his classes, kind of dorky.

Brandon? Brenden? Something with a ‘b’. He’ll find out later or not at all. 

Brent just wants to get through the day so he can go hang out at Spencer’s, gripe about the Tony Hawk wannabes at the skate park Ryan’s boycotting this week. 

Some girl in his math class makes a joke and Brendon (the useless teacher is good for something, it turns out) smiles, laughs. Brent is only half paying attention, because he sure isn’t following what the teacher is doing. The smile is like an orange peel, sweet and loud and glowing. The laugh feels like joy, hooks him in.

Brent wants to make this boy he doesn’t even know smile and he doesn’t even know precisely why. 

Brent goes to Spencer’s house after school, sits on Spencer’s couch while Ryan lies on the floor, making lists of all the cords in every Blink song he can think of. Spencer hands him a plate of nachos as he sits down next to Brent, helps Ryan with his list. Brent already knows the notes for bass on a fair number of the songs Ryan’s come up with. 

Brendon, as it turns out, is Mormon, which explains some of the oddness. They edge into a careful friendship of sharing homework, complaining about classes, and talking about music. 

They go to Brent’s house for some projects they were assigned to work on together one afternoon. 

Brent manages to make Brendon laugh, and something flutters around uselessly in his belly.

At first it’s all schoolwork, but then Brendon falls over him, losing his balance as he tried to hand Brent the paper with the project instructions for a particular assignment on it. 

Brendon is lined up over him and Brent can feel Brendon breathing, erratic gulps of air. Their faces are angled together, and Brent turns, trying to get out from under Brendon but their lips brush and Brendon freezes. 

It’s a series of shy and sloppy kisses, starting and stopping, but Brent wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Brendon tastes like citrus, Tang, vitamin C. He tastes like what the sun must be like, orange and glorious. 

Brent takes Brendon to his band practice to audition one afternoon. He wonders what Ryan and Spencer will make of him. 

 

**iv) Vanilla Coffee Frappuccino**

Brent actually runs into Jon, before they know anything about each other, about techs and TAI and Panic! at the Disco. He was just some dude in a hurry, same as Brent. 

On the ground, joints sore as well as ego, Brent catches whiff of something – sweet, earthy. Vanilla and coffee grounds, he’ll decide later. Jon helps him up.

Unthinkingly, he licks his lips.

After that Jon teaches him about his many cameras with Tom. They take him out to the fields, cramped spaces, anywhere really, and talk and take pictures. 

Jon is calm and energetic, exactly the strange mix of homesickness and new experiences that Brent is awash with. He feels at home with Jon and as far away from the known as he can get. It’s exhilarating. 

Jon doesn’t tease him about not drinking like Tom and the rest of TAI does. Brent likes that about him, that he wouldn’t press the issue. 

Brent is handing Jon his camera that he had dropped accidentally. The field they’re in is dry and caked with old mud. Their hands and bodies brush against each other. Brent blushes, now shy. Jon’s eyes are fiery. 

Jon holds his jaw, fingers curved around his ears. Jon leans down, kisses him, licks his way into Brent’s mouth. Brent opens his mouth in shock, sways into it. 

They don’t tell anyone after that, not because they’re ashamed, but because neither of them sees the point. Tom catches them kissing against a tree once though. Smiles oddly and walks off, makes no mention of it to the others. 

It’s easy and constant.

When Brent isn’t with them or his band, he’s taking pictures by himself, trying to see what Jon and Tom do in the everyday. His eyes are starting to open. 

This quickly becomes more important than time, as important as music. 

He’s painstakingly categorizing the world anew through the shutter, and everything has a new texture, weight, shade, than it did before. 

Jon learns the terrain of his body with zest, eager to explore, to touch. Brent’s just as greedy for new textures here. The calluses on Jon’s hands match his. Jon soon learns all the tricks and ways it takes for Brent to unspools in his hand, mouth. 

Jon fucks him in Tom’s bunk, slow and rhythmic. Brent bites at Jon’s lips, shoulder, twists his hips up to meet the thrusts. Jon kisses him precisely, sloppily, all frantic and measured. 

Jon tastes like vanilla and coffee, smooth and perfect, black and powerful. 

 

**v) Ginger**

Tom accidentally spills lukewarm coffee on Brent the first time they meet. 

They run into each other, places to go, things to do. 

Brent is ready to be pissed, but Tom smiles sheepishly, apologetically. Something uncurls in his chest, which was poised, ready to strike. 

They start talking about everything and nothing. Conversation flows like a brook around them. They flit from topics easily, contentedly. 

That night, Brent’s shirt smells faintly of ginger, where Tom had touched it to try and dry it off. 

Tom teaches him about photography with the help of a tech friend of his named Jon. 

They take little trips out a ways, away from wherever the stage and buses happen to be knotted around. 

Over the next few weeks Brent is somehow coaxed into spilling his thoughts, fears, insecurities, wants, soul out to them and they return in kind. Tom is following the pulse and rhythm that only a guitar can bring. Jon is warding off the drudgery of office living with a yen for sound and fixing wire. 

Tom smokes, but Brent doesn’t mind it. Tom still smells of ginger, which Brent likes to breathe in whenever he can. The scent fits him somehow. 

Tom teaches him about angle and lighting and composition, finds that Brent takes to it like a duck in water. 

Once they figure this out, Tom and Jon start to break out all kinds of things like exposure and _contre-jour_ and _sfumato_ and _chiaroscuro_. 

His eyes are opening, Jon likes to say, and they’re determined to make him see the world with fresh eyes. Brent wants that too, because the differences he can already detect are heady with meaning and detail. 

Tom’s guiding his hands to line up the horizon points one afternoon, pressed against each other’s bodies. Brent’s breathing is careful and measured. Tom’s speaking directly into his ear, warm puffs of breath on his neck. Sweet, tangy, gingery scent is trying to overwhelm everything else. 

Brent’s been wondering what Tom would taste like, if the ginger would hold true or if sweat would win out. 

They’ve stopped talking, stopped everything but breathing in time with each other. 

Brent ends up holding the camera as Tom kisses along his neck, walks around to face him. Tom’s hands find their way up Brent’s shirt, down his pants.

“We should go to my bus. We both still have time before our sound checks.” Tom suggests, voice ragged. 

The bunk is cramped, like any bunk Brent has ever seen or heard of, but it manages to provide enough support when Tom is licking along the vein in Brent’s cock, fingers curled around his hips. Tom’s skin, mouth tastes of ginger, the strong sweet flavor burning on Brent’s tongue.

Tom lets out a string of the dirtiest things Brent has ever heard when Brent fucks him, arched under him like an archer’s bow. 

They don’t declare everlasting love and fidelity but they do agree that they’re something more than just good friends. 

Photography is a close second to music now, gaining in leaps and bounds incredible purchase on the mountain of his interests. 

This would be fine, except that the bass, the music feels less to his hands, which ache for the subtle weight of a camera. The steadying pulse of a bass line doesn’t mean as much.

He’s lost his sense of time and space whenever he has a camera in his hand. The world feels right. When you’re doing it right, you never appear in the picture. No one sees your physical flaws, the curl of baby fat you still have to lose to look traditionally attractive. No one says you’re the ugly one in your band. No one says you shouldn’t be there at all, because you’re the one capturing the moment.

Tom and Jon say this is how it should be: just your camera and eyes absorbing the world. 

It all spirals out of their grasp though: Brent can’t deal with the rising tide of energy, can’t deal with one of the only things in his life that made him happy. Whenever he picks up his bass now, something cold clamps down in his gut.

He’s late and later for sound checks and even a few shows. 

Brent feels retroactively guilty, but not enough to ignore the siren song of the new details around him, begging to be preserved forever in filament. 

After the tour, when they’re back in Vegas, about to go on another leg, he doesn’t get on the plane. He pecks his mom on the cheek, grabs the camera Tom and Jon gave him when he’d managed to go through all their rolls of film, and goes walking around town.

When he gets back, vaguely sun burnt, many hours later, he has 27 calls from Spencer, 11 from Brendon and 13 from Ryan. 

He has just one from Tom. Brent deletes the rest and goes to take a shower. 

They talk well into the night. The meandering conversation isn’t even about why Brent isn’t there in person. 

He handles the split with as much grace as he can muster. Blake and his ex girlfriend defend him with misguided concern, so he really can’t be too angry about that. If Blake were in his position, Brent would be making an ass out of himself just the same. 

Brent is happy for Jon, because he knows Jon will help them, will be good for them. Tom keeps him updated on the little, miniscule dumb things like Spencer bitching out Brendon for daring to touch his shoes or when Brendon and Jon bond over yet another Disney song. They don’t, can’t talk about Ryan. So Brent is happy for Jon, since the four of them have just found a better fit, is all.

He’s not surprised when Jon joins them permanently. 

Brent stays busy: he goes to a community college, gets a part-time job at a grocery store.

That he would keep taking pictures is a foregone conclusion. He’s building himself a solid portfolio.

He’s there for Tom as much as he can when Tom leaves TAI. Brent doesn’t ask why and Tom doesn’t offer a reason. 

The months bleed into each other and Brent loses track of time in shutter clicks and biology midterm tests and _paper or plastic, Ma’am?_ every Tuesday through Friday night.

“Come to Chi-town. You can stay with me.” Tom says and Brent’s stomach flips. Brent will be able to transfer to a university in a few months.

It would be good to see Tom again. Phone sex isn’t all its cracked up to be. 

He transfers in the fall and moves in with Tom and his friend Sean.

Like an addict, Tom’s back at it again: He and Sean are writing music, songs. Brent expected this, is pleased to be right. 

He wanders through Chicago letting the city get under his skin. He needs to get the grit and gaudy flush Vegas out of him, and this is the perfect way to do it: Camera slung around his neck, sore feet at the end of a day. 

Tom still tastes of ginger, still has that something that made Brent give pause all those months ago. Steady and stable like sepia, spicy as ginger snaps.


End file.
